


Tousled

by traccigaryn



Series: Touched [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: But I Think It Just Turned Out Sweet?, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, I Tried to Write Crackfic, Lightly J/C, Mostly Gen, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25764163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traccigaryn/pseuds/traccigaryn
Summary: "I have grave security concerns, Commander. About your hair."podfic version included
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Series: Touched [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869079
Comments: 25
Kudos: 64





	Tousled

**Author's Note:**

> This story is what happens when [coffeeblack75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeblack75) and I ask ourselves "What would happen if Chakotay had Robert Beltran's pre- _Voyager_ hair?" Important questions deserve important answers. 
> 
> More than that, writing has not come easily lately, but coffee is an amazing cheerleader and sounding board and friend, and I am eternally grateful for every one of those things.

[Tracci Garyn](https://soundcloud.com/user-835906820) · [Tousled](https://soundcloud.com/user-835906820/tousled)

* * *

He first noticed it when the captain's fingers skimmed along the tips of his hair on their way to his shoulder. Her hand on his shoulder wasn't unusual. Her suddenly errant aim took him by surprise, but he chalked it up to the early hour and a lack of caffeine. 

Then it happened again.

They were in the ready room, briefing the senior staff on the day's dilithium mining expedition, and Kathryn's fingers traced lightly across the back of his head before reaching the top of his chair. No one else seemed to notice. Even Kathryn gave no indication she realized she had altered her routine. And yet he felt the goosebumps, the dormant awareness ripple through him. 

He'd long ago accepted that she would never cross the boundary between captain and lover, not while they were on _Voyager_ , so he was puzzled. 

A few days later, Gerron was especially quiet during their biweekly lunch. Chakotay tried to subtly probe the young man's silence, concerned he was slipping back into his shell, but Gerron had laughed him off and returned his tray to Neelix.

Passing the Delaney sisters in the corridor, they stared at him in silence then erupted in giggles as they turned the corner.

Naomi marched up to him and demanded a bedtime story.

Everyone seemed to be looking past his ears instead of at him, like they couldn't meet his gaze.

Chakotay couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. The only thing he could pinpoint as a potential cause was his recent time with the Genarii, a war-torn race attempting to rebuild their homeworld. He'd spent several weeks on the surface, coordinating relief efforts. The hours had been long, the work exhausting but rewarding. It had taken him a couple of days to readjust to the relative luxuries of life on _Voyager_ , and he'd even made a comment to that effect to B'Elanna.

Surely she hadn't taken offense at the comparison? No. If there was one thing he was certain of in this situation, it was that B'Elanna would not hesitate to let her feelings be known.

The odd interactions continued, and Chakotay had finally decided he needed to broach the topic with Kathryn during their dinner that night when Tuvok and Seven appeared at his office door.

"I have grave security concerns, Commander. About your hair."

"What?" Chakotay blinked at Tuvok in astonishment. 

In the back of his mind, he could hear his parents' old lament: "It's 'I beg your pardon', Chakotay. 'What' is so rude." But they'd never been able to break him of the habit. And in moments of real surprise, that abrupt syllable would slip from his lips again.

"There is a direct correlation between your hair and a recent decrease in crew efficiency," Seven's abrasive voice cut in.

"As well as bridge crew response times during battle drills," Tuvok added.

"What?" Chakotay knew other words. He was sure of it. But he couldn't seem to think of any others at the moment.

Seven thrust a PADD into his hand. "Each time you have visited a department in the past few weeks, crew efficiency has decreased by .03% for approximately eight minutes. In one instance, as much as seventeen minutes. Ensign Kim's personal efficiency levels drop by .05%, which is especially alarming. Given that you visit each department on your rounds nearly every day, the aggregate effect is harrowing to consider."

Chakotay stared blankly at the PADD. "What does that have to do with my hair?"

Tuvok slid his hands behind his back, a clear signal he had serious news to convey. "You have not cut your hair since before your stay with the Genarii last month. The drop in efficiency first became apparent after your return." Then he simply stared into Chakotay's face, waiting for a response. A defense?

"No, I haven't," Chakotay said slowly. "I got busy, I guess." 

"I will explain." Seven's abrupt interjection drew his attention back to her. "According to numerous conversations Lieutenant Commander Tuvok and I have overheard recently, the crew is distracted by its length. They think it makes you … softer." When Chakotay did not respond, she notched her chin up a few millimeters. "It is all detailed in my report. Salient examples include, 'It's got a bit of curl to it now.' 'You can really see the grey coming through.' 'Man, what I wouldn't give to be able to run my fingers through that mane of —'"

Chakotay's hand jerked up, cutting off the monotone of Seven's recitation. "Thank you, Seven. I … yes, thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"I trust you will remedy the situation immediately, Commander?" Tuvok's eyebrow had risen in what could only be implied direction.

Chakotay bit the inside of his lip to stop the smirk of amusement. "Of course, Mr. Tuvok. I have a busy day, but I'll see to it as soon as possible. I would hate to see those crew efficiency levels drop further."

They both looked back at him for a moment, as if unsure of how seriously he was taking their information, but he met their eyes with careful blankness.

After they departed, Chakotay let out a repressed hoot of laughter. So _that_ was it. He couldn't stop the smirk or his hand, lifting up to pull on his earlobe. He was not unaware of his looks or the effect they had on others. They had done him good service at the Academy and even, on occasion, in the Maquis. _Use the tools at your disposal_ , he'd told new recruits. But he had never really paid attention to his hair. He'd kept it short growing up to deal with the heat and humidity of home and later because it was one less thing to worry about. 

"So noted," he thought, tucking this new information away for future tactical need. Yes, he'd cut his hair tonight. He really had been serious about those crew efficiency levels. But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun with it first. And it was time for his departmental rounds …

His first stop was Engineering. He carelessly tugged on a lock at his forehead, and Lieutenant Carey stumbled three times in his report. Crewman Boylan dropped a self-sealing stem bolt. 

Ensign Simmons nearly ran into the turbolift door when he dropped his head and gave it a quick shake as she was leaving. 

And so it continued throughout his day. Tuvok and Seven had not been wrong. (As if they were ever wrong.) He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. He should feel bad that it was at the crew's expense, but he just couldn't bring himself to regret anything.

The best, of course, was last. Kathryn was distracted throughout their dinner. Their interactions had settled into a kind of safety over the years, and Chakotay had no wish to toy with either of their hearts, but he still felt a kind of quiet vindication as he watched her watching him. And not for the first time, he cursed their circumstances. 

He took a sip of wine and casually said, "I hope you don't mind, but I need to leave a little early tonight, Kathryn."

"Oh?" Her voice held polite interest, and she took a bite of tiramisu. 

"I have an appointment with the holo-barber." He ran his hand back through his locks, brushing the strands away from his forehead. Her eyes tracked his movement with more than usual intensity. "I need to finally get this mess taken care of."

"Oh." There was definite disappointment in her tone now. "Yes, of course." She suddenly rose and began clearing the table, dessert forsaken. Normally he helped her but tonight he stayed seated, waiting to see what happened. Sure enough, as she reached across his shoulder to pick up his plate, her fingers brushed through his hair, like she wanted one last chance. 

"You could just ask, you know," he said quietly, impulsively.

She froze. "Ask what, Commander?" Light. Purposefully light.

"I couldn't figure out what had happened," he said. "Why your normally perfect aim was starting to falter." She was behind him, barely breathing. "But someone made me aware today that my hair has been causing numerous crew abnormalities in recent weeks. So I tested the hypothesis. You'd approve of my scientific method, I know. And sure enough, letting my hair grow out a couple more centimeters really does seem to have been enough to throw off the entire ship. Even the captain."

Kathryn's hip came to rest against the side of his chair.

"I can't let it continue, of course." He didn't look up. "But it was … nice while it lasted."

He stopped. Waited. 

Kathryn shifted, and her graceful fingers settled into his hair, the strands parting and caressing as she travelled from the base of his neck toward his tattoo. He could have sworn he heard a quiet moan, but maybe that was just his imagination. Her fingertips massaged a circle, two, then drifted back and out of his hair.

"Yes, it was nice while it lasted," she whispered. 

The tableau caught, held, released. 

Chakotay rose. He faced her and silently ran his own palm through his hair, retracing her route in reverse, capturing the feel of her in his own fingers.

At the door, he turned and looked back at her. "Maybe when we get home, I'll let it grow out like this again."

She gave that crooked smile and turned away to pick up his plate, forgotten on the table. "Yes, I like that idea." 

"Goodnight, Kathryn."

"Goodnight, Chakotay."

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I refuse to acknowledge the salt-and-pepper ever went away. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
